Chapter 7
“We have a problem.” Jay rubbed his eyes and paced back and forth in his kitchen, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. Recruiting Rebecca to help was the right call, but it still added a different kind of stress to the situation.
“Okay. What kind of problem?”
“Betty called me. Her dogs got into her pile of wedding favors and ate some of the chocolate, and then got sick all over the rest of them. She just returned from the vet, and I convinced her not to worry about the wedding favors and to get to bed so she could enjoy her day tomorrow.”
“Oh, wow. How many do we need?”
“Three hundred. I have the graphic with their names and the wedding date, and I’m printing them out on linen cardstock as we speak. They won’t be the gold embossed ones her dogs destroyed, but it’s better than nothing.”
“What about a gift to go with the cards?”
“I don’t know. It’s a little late to go out and find three hundred scented candles or heart-shaped soaps.”
“True. But all she was doing was chocolate. They weren’t going to be expensive to begin with, right?”
“They were imported Belgian chocolates.”
“Wow, those dogs have expensive taste.”
He couldn’t help it; a chuckle escaped, and then they were both laughing. It filled him with a nostalgia that quickly sobered him up again. “We need ribbon and something small to attach to the cards. Throw some ideas at me.”
“I’m looking up Pinterest as we speak. But you’re the wedding expert. What do people usually do?”
“Tie tacks and pearl pins, an assortment of teas, magnets, champagne-flavored gummy bears, um, personalized playing cards…”
“Well, I guess I’m running to Michael’s and Whole Foods. Did you want me to come to the office? Is that where you’re printing up the cards?”
Oh, he hadn’t really thought this through. “No, I’m at my house. I’ll text you the address.”
Bridger was in bed, but he didn’t know how Shannon would feel about someone coming over right now. He walked down the hall to Shannon’s room as he sent Rebecca the address. Shannon’s light was out and she was already fast asleep. He worried that she rarely ever did anything fun. She didn’t even stay up to watch TV anymore because of her early morning job. But at least there was no need to explain about coworkers coming over. He softly shut her door and went back to check the cards coming out of the printer.
Shannon was a compulsive cleaner, so there was no need to tidy up the place. He did change out of his rumpled shirt though, studying his face in the bathroom mirror. Worry lines had made a permanent appearance between his eyebrows. He knew from Rebecca’s occasional snide comments, and the way she stared at him sometimes, that she missed the way he was before. But it was hard to remember ever being that carefree. The only time he felt that way anymore was when he played outside with Bridger.
He took out his paper cutter from the back of the top shelf of his closet. Both he and Shannon were paranoid about Bridger getting into something that resembled a guillotine. The kid’s eyes had lit up with all sorts of mischief the one time Jay took it out while he was awake.
By the time a soft knock sounded at the front door, he had all the printed cards cut to size and the cutter put away again.
He opened the door and moved aside for Rebecca to bring in all the bags of supplies in her arms. Wearing jeans, and with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked very much like the young college girl he’d fallen in love with. He pushed that thought away and focused on what needed to be done.
“What did you decide on?” he asked as he led the way into the kitchen.
“An assortment of herbal teas. I hope that’s okay. I found these cute little burlap drawstring bags at Michael’s, and we can put three or four tea bags in each and attach the cards. I didn’t know if you had a hole puncher for the cards, so I bought one of those, too.”
He stopped browsing through all the bags she’d deposited on the kitchen table and looked at her. “This is great. I really appreciate you dropping everything to come help.”
She shrugged and immediately dived into the bags herself, likely not sure how to react to a nice version of him. But that was his own fault.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and pointed to the pot. “You want some?”
“Sure.”
He knew how she liked her coffee, having made her plenty of cups during their late-night study sessions. A little milk, a lot of sugar.
She took the cup from him, and they stood there awkwardly sipping for a minute. Time to get to work. He put his cup down and started sorting tea bags into sets of three, setting them out into rows.
Rebecca examined the cards he’d made. “My printer would’ve made a mess of this.”
